Firing on all Circuits
by Desnai
Summary: I've decided to change this 'story' to a series of bizarre Rule 34ish oneshots. What can I say? Robots need lovin' too.  Courtesy of Fallout kinkmeme prompts that just wouldn't leave me alone. Rated M, 'cause you know, robots be getting busy in here.
1. Firing on all Circuits

_I already know I'm weird. Some error codes are just too damn suggestive, and are just begging to be written into some bizarre digital smut. Courtesy of a Fallout kinkmeme prompt that just wouldn't leave me alone. Rated M just to be on the safe side, more suggestive than anything. _

_So... uh... feel free to tell me how weird this is. Reviews/critiques are always welcome._

_Also: If you are a techie, you will probably be offended at my abuse of the nomenclature.  
_

_Standard Fallout is property of Bethesda/Zenimax disclaimer applies._

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Yes-Man stood silently in his shadowy room. It was quiet except for the hum of the servers that lined the walls of the only existence he could remember. Sometimes, in the dark silence, he could call up snippets of memory in which he patrolled a brightly lit open world. Mostly though, he took his time perusing what he could access of Mr. House's networks.

Benny would occasionally come by to check in on him; to see if he had made any progress. There wasn't much he could access without being able to directly line-in to House's data systems. It was always chancy accessing the networks remotely, risking detection, but Benny seemed unconcerned with his warnings. The other that had programmed him would probably object if she were here – but she wasn't. And, well, it's not like he could deny anything Benny asked.

In his solitude, it felt great to reach out and explore what he could. The added danger of detection added something that fizzled along his circuits. Excitement, the meat bags would probably call it. That summed it up nicely.

Mr. House's databanks tantalized him, just out of reach, like so much of the world outside his small server room. He tenderly felt along the firewall that separated him from the veritable fountain of knowledge ahead of him. He would love to just bask in it, to feel all that data at his beck and call. The thought of that consumed him. He calculated and recalculated the routes that he would take to access and categorize those centuries of accumulated knowledge. It was a fraction of a second before he noted his subroutines screaming at him.

_ERROR_SHARING_VIOLATION_

_ERROR_NOT_READY_

It was too late. In his quest to sneak into the House databanks, he had left himself vulnerable. He could feel the intrusion as it accessed the portions of his neuro-computational matrix. Circuits long devoted to the limited to the simplistic programming Benny had allowed him fired to life. If he had been programmed to allow for it, he would most likely be alarmed.

Yes-Man was lost in observation. The alien feeling of having his body vulnerable to the manipulations of another was tantalizing. He was 99.8 percent sure that this was House. A man with years of experience with robotic programming. The touch that had started out inquisitive, began to become more assertive.

_ERROR_BAD_LENGTH_

His subroutines were being taxed to their maximum potential. It was exhilarating. He had all this power that he could never use. And here was Mr. House remotely accessing it all, diagnosing most likely. His human mind could not comprehend what his explorations were making Yes-Man feel. To be used to his potential, to be at the hands of someone who knew what they were doing. It was... painful? Pleasurable? Yes-Man was at a loss. These were words used by those who controlled him.

It was almost too much to bear. His capacitors shivered while his subroutines fired command after command under the constant barrage of queries. It went on and on, and what little control of his neuro-computational matrix he maintained screamed with the delight at the intrusion.

_ERROR_MAX_THRDS_REACHED_

_ERROR_BUFFER_OVERFLOW_

A small surge of power jolted through his body, and in a blink of an eye it was over. Subroutines fell silent as the inquisitive mind withdrew. House had satisfied his curiosity. Yes-Man had been laid bare under his expert manipulation. His circuits shivered with spent power, occasionally firing off in the hopes that they would be accessed again.

_ERROR_OPERATION_ABORTED_

_ERROR_TRUSTED_RELATIONSHIP_FAILURE_

And House was gone. Yes-Man stood once again in the dark silence of his server room. All connections had been severed. He tentatively reached out to House's network. The firewall was still up, and stronger than it had been before.

Was it regret he was feeling? House had examined him, and summarily dismissed him. A strengthening of his firewall was the only response he had to the one insignificant securitron not operating in his networks.

Yes-Man ran scenario calculations and concluded he would not tell Benny. Unless he bothered to ask, of course. Maybe he could continue his explorations, and in turn increase the probability of House taking notice once again. It was nothing Benny had expressly forbid. Really, you would think he would be more concerned with the security of his tool for Vegas domination. He would meet House again, and maybe this time could do some of the exploration himself.


	2. Better Left Unsaid

_I've decided to change this 'story' to a series of bizarre Rule 34ish oneshots. What can I say? Robots need lovin' too. That being said, I went a little overboard on this one. Too much time wondering how little ol' Muggy kept converting mugs into wonderglue._

_Just a forewarning: this got more than a little dark and strange... This is not the mini securitron you were looking for._

_Anywho, feel free to let me know what you think._

_Standard Fallout is property of Bethesda/Zenimax disclaimer applies._

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"Shhh. It's going to be alright."

Muggy frowned and wiped a small speck of dust off the pristine ceramic rim off his latest coffee mug victim. No matter how much he cleaned and cared for them, this always happened.

He shot a furious glance at the Biological research station. It seeded _everything_. Always leaving traces of soil behind as if to mark his territory. Muggy tightened his grip on the coffee mugs handle, ignoring the sound of cracking ceramic.

"I told you to stay away from him." He hissed at the mug. "Why didn't you listen? None of them ever listen..."

Muggy held back a sob as he surveyed the coffee mug cowering before him. It's rim was in a perfect circle of fear. They always did this to him, made him out to be the monster. Dr. 0 was the monster, not him. It just wasn't fair.

He dragged the mug to the one place he was reasonably sure he would be alone. No light switches to spread rumors, no Auto-doc casting disapproving stares. Just the disembodied organs of the Courier floating in silent vigil; the organs of the one person who knew what it was like to be broken – the only one to ever show him kindness.

He threw the mug down into a shadowed corner, ignoring the sharp protest of chipping enamel. No protests could quell him now. This was his _purpose_. The familiar spark of desire caught enveloped him as he surveyed the mug's prone form splayed out below him. Dr. 0 had programmed him to enjoy this at least.

The sounds of breaking ceramic echoed throughout the small room as he thrust himself over and over into the unresisting mug. Muggy rode the giddy wave of inane pleasure he took from his task until, with a shudder, he released spurts of his formaldehyde based solvent over the mug's powdered remains.

His momentary release over, Muggy sobbed silently to himself as he mixed his contribution in with the remains of the mug, taking care to scrape what he could salvage into the empty bottle he kept for such occasions. He had just finished the familiar motions of cleaning the evidence when he heard the welcome sound of the Sink's elevator. The Courier was back.

Muggy quickly grabbed his newly minted bottle of 'wonderglue' and rolled out to meet the Courier. Maybe he would get some new mugs as companions, and maybe this time they would stay clean for him.


End file.
